


Young Daniel

by Debi_C



Series: Tok'ra Flats [4]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:04:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Debi_C/pseuds/Debi_C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear when men were men, women were strong and some kids were pretty special. The true story of how Deputy Daniel Jackson of Tok'ra Flats came to live amongst the Cherokee Indians. Warning: minor character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young Daniel

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to any speakers of German or Cherokee. I tried my best to keep it right.

Jack O'Neill was sitting in his rocking chair on the porch of the Tok'ra Flats Sheriff's Office. It was an early summer's morning. A slight breeze wafted its way down the street from the direction of the Rio de Nada. He could almost smell the fresh pinesap from new the Lumber Mill that had gone up right after their arrival. Imagine, a lumber mill being run by a woman. O'Neill had to admit that he'd had a lot of surprises since he'd come to this quiet little western town out here in the Indian Territory. 

He reached for his cup of coffee that sat on the small checkerboard top table next to his chair. As he took a sip of the warm liquid, a buckboard and some riders coming down the town's main street caught his attention. As was his habit, Jack rose from his seat and sauntered out into the street to greet the newcomers. 

Except some of these were some very familiar faces that he was seeing, and they belonged to some old friends indeed. 

The men riding into town were Texas Rangers. The two on horseback were young and Jack didn't recognize them. The two men in the buckboard, however, bore a remarkable resemblance to each other. They were both fair of skin, with graying blond hair and piercing blue eyes. They were men that Jack had known for years. In fact, the older one was the very man that had recruited him long ago, Mike Burell. The other man was Mike's younger brother, Joe. 

"Well, I'll be damned," the sheriff greeted the old man with an outstretched hand. "Mike Burell, what the devil are you doing way out here?" 

The older man clambered out of the buckboard with the limber movements of a much younger man. "Jack O'Neill, you are a sight for sore eyes, hombre. That's for certain." The two men embraced warmly. "You remember my brother Joe, don't you?" 

"How ya doing, Jack?" The younger version of Mike smiled down at his old friend from the wagon's seat. 

"Of course I do. I'm doing just fine, Joe. Climb on down offa that box and make yourself to home." Jack greeted the younger man with almost as much enthusiasm. 

One of the outriders came up and took the lead line to the team, to allow the three friends some visiting time. Jack directed the men around back of the office to the corral, where they could water the team and unsaddle horses. 

"So, tell me, what are you doing so far away from San Antonio anyways?" Jack asked curiously. "Nothing's wrong is it?" 

"Well, Jack," Joe spoke up. "I've got some letters and dispatches for Commander Hammond, and Mike here, well; he's retired so he just came along for the ride." 

Jack smiled at his two old friends. "Well, Judge Hammond's office is three doors down, and he should be there this time of day. Why don't you go ahead and take care of your business, and I'll take Mike here over to the Saloon and stand him to a drink. When you get through, come on over and join us." 

"That sounds like a plan to me." Joe declared with a smile. "I'll be there in an hour or so." He smiled at the two men. "Don't you two go getting into any trouble now, ya hear?" 

"He's safe with me, Joe...I am the sheriff here, ya know?" 

"I'd heard that, you old sidewinder." Joe smiled at O'Neill. "Now," he intoned seriously. "Now, I am worried." 

Jack laughed and clapped the older man on the shoulder. "Come on with me Mike; let me introduce you to our Mayor and Saloonkeeper, Miz Debi." 

As the two men entered The Emerald City saloon they were deep in discussion of old times and new news. The went up to the deserted bar area and Jack called out. "Louigi, Miz Debi, anybody around here?" 

Debi, the saloon owner, came out of the kitchen area that served the establishment's restaurant. She was pushing some loose strands of hair out of her face and dusting flour off of her apron. "Right here, Sheriff. What can I get for you?" 

"Your pretty self, of course." Jack smiled affably at the woman. 

She just smiled and shook her head at him. "That blarney and two bits will get you a cold beer, Jack O'Neill." She slipped easily behind the bar and pulled two mugs out of the icebox behind the bar. "Lager?" 

"Please, ma'm." Jack nodded. "And I'd like to introduce you to Mike Burell, an old and dear friend of mine from the Texas Rangers." 

As the woman reached across the bar to shake his hand, she looked closely at the older man. "Are you related to the Castroville Burells?" 

"Jah, I am." Mike looked up at her taking in her graying blond hair and blue eyes. "How do you know of them?" 

"I'm related to them," Debi commented happily. "I'm Katrina Burell's daughter. She married Sedan Brieten from Quihi." 

"Oh, jah. She is mein cousin. My vater's schwester." 

"Jah, we are Großcousine." Debi remarked happily. She glanced at Jack. "Second cousins. Doesn't that just beat all!" 

"It certainly is a small world." Mike agreed. "But what are you doing way out here, running a saloon? And der Burgermeister too!." 

"It's a long story, Mike. A very long, boring story." 

The saloon doors swung open to admit Samantha and Teal'c. They were both dusty and sweaty from the trail. The Sheriff turned to greet them. "There you are, where's Daniel?" 

"He stayed behind to help the Priest your brother." Teal'c intoned in his deep voice. 

Sam came up and thankfully accepted an icy mug of cool water from Debi. "He said he wanted to finish the fence so the little goats couldn't get out again. Padre Joe said he'd been having trouble with them escaping, and he was afraid the coyotes would get them." 

"It takes a coyote to stop a coyote." Jack said with a grin. "Daniel will get it done, sure enough." He then indicated the young woman and large black man. "Mike these are two of my deputies, Samantha Carter and Teal'c. The third and missing one is Daniel Jackson. You'll meet him around suppertime, I'm sure. He seldom misses the evening meal." 

Mike looked at him curiously. "Did you say Daniel Jackson?" 

"Yes, why?" O'Neill raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

"A tall slender boy with blond hair, very fair skin, and eyes the color of bluebonnets?" 

"Well, yes, you could say that...though his hair is darker now than it was when he was a teenager." The sheriff sat his mug down and looked frankly at the old Ranger. "Why, is there a problem?" 

"Oh, no. No problem at all." Mike looked at Jack seriously. "His Indian name is Wa-ya A-yu-le. (Coyote Child)." 

"No, not any more." Jack looked at him curiously, then he continued. "His name is now Ga-ta-na-i Wa-ya. (Wise Coyote). 

"I'm not surprised." Ranger Burell said softly. "I knew he would be a wise man. He had all the markings even when I knew him."

Sam looked at the two older men curiously. "I'm sorry, what are you two talking about? Our Daniel?" 

Mike smiled at her. "Jah, I knew him a long time ago, when he was only a small boy." 

The Sheriff shook his head in disbelief. "Are you saying that you knew him as a child with the Cherokee?" 

"No, Jack. I'm saying, I'm the one who gave him to the Cherokee." 

Texas Plains 1848 

Mike Burell, Texas Ranger out of San Antonio, topped the crest of the hill on his good Mustang and stopped to let the animal catch its breath. The red roan pony was still rough broke by some standards, but the spirit and endurance of his breed made him a much desired mount by Texas Ranger standards. 

Mike had been sent to escort a group of Oklahoma Cherokee safely back to their homelands. There had been a lot of Comanche and Comanchero activity in the new nation of Texas since it had won its independence from Mexico and a lot of the ranchers weren't too picky about what kind of Indians they were shooting at. Old Sam Houston wanted his friends taken care of while they were down from the Cherokee Indian Territory hunting Buffalo to help get them through the winter. So the Ranger had been assigned to go with them and help out whenever he could. It was an easy task. Mike honestly liked the members of this hunting party and they were a pleasure to be around. Many of them were as civilized and educated as some of the whites in the area, if not more so. 

The leader of the party rode up beside the Ranger and stopped his paint pony beside his friend's mount. Where Mike was wearing the generic Anglo costume of the state; sombrero, a fringed buckskin coat over a long sleeved calico shirt, canvas trousers and boots, the Cherokee was wearing his native costume of the traditional turban, buckskin shirt, woolen pants and moccasins. The two men had become close as brothers in the short time they had known each other. "What do you see, Da-lo-ni-ge Gi-tlu (Yellow Hair)?" 

Mike leaned back in the saddle and strained his eyes to make out more detail, "I don't know A-Ga-ta-na-i We-ha-li (Wise Eagle), but it doesn't look too good." The Texas Ranger shook his head and pointed down into the valley. "Looks like some pilgrims got waylaid down there." 

He could see what appeared to be a burned out wagon and objects littering the flat prairie floor. Some of the shapes looked to be bodies, a mule carcass and some human remains. 

We-ha-li nodded sadly. "I see it too." He looked at his friend. "We must go down." 

"Jah, we must be sure of what happened and I should try to find out who they were." Mike kneed his mount down the slope towards the site of the wreck and We-ha-li followed after calling to two more of his hunters to follow them. 

When the group arrived at the tragic scene, the signs were easy to read. A lone wagon, pulled by a four-in-hand of mules had been traveling in a westerly direction. One of the lead mules was lying dead in its traces obviously shot to keep the wagon from moving. The other three were gone, no doubt stolen. The bodies of a young couple, a dark haired man and a blonde woman were lying where they fell. A half-grown hound was also shot dead. Their belongings had been strewn across the ground from their wagon. Clothing, chairs, a small table, and several trunks and valises. These containers had all been broken open and the contents tossed aside as if the attackers were searching for valuables. 

The men dismounted and walked through the area, looking for clues as to who had committed the atrocity. They noticed all the guns were gone and could see the boot prints of the villains who had committed the crime and shod hoof prints of their horses. There were only a few moccasin prints and barefoot pony prints intermingled. We-ha-li looked at Mike and shook his head sadly. 

Mike nodded grimly. "This isn't Indian sign," he commented. 

"No, my friend," the Indian pointed to the arrows sticking out of the wagon and some of the furniture. "But whoever did this wanted us to believe it was." 

"Comancheros, up from Mexico," the Ranger agreed. "And there may have been a few Comanches with them, but I'm betting this was no war party. I'm thinking it was murder, rape, and stealing that caused this." 

One of the Cherokee men came over to where the two friends were standing. "We-ha-li, ni. A-ya a-go-wa-dv hiya." (Eagle, look. I see this.) The man was carrying a small rag doll in the shape of a bear and he handed it to his leader. We-hi-li and Mike looked from the toy to each other, then began scanning the area for other, smaller footprints. 

The Cherokee leader called to his men, "A-ha-ni, e a-yu-le!" (Look, a child!) The four men began to search in earnest, to look in and around the area for any sign of a small body. Finally, one of the men called out, and they could clearly see the small barefoot tracks of a youngster as he had scuttled from out of the wagon and fled into a rocky outcropping. 

"Ach, der poor kinder." (Oh, the poor child) Mike said sadly in his mother tongue. He knew what the child had probably witnessed. It was a terrible thing for a child to see his parents die. 

Suddenly one of the young men who had climbed up into the rocky area called out. "A-ha-ni, a-ha-ni!" 

As the others climbed up to where the young man was, they could see him crouching down at a small rock overhang. He reached in with his hand, then he called out in pain and looked at the others nursing his injured hand as they approached his position. 

"What is it?" Mike asked. 

"A young yo-na (bear), I think." The man replied examining his hand for injury. "I reached for the boy and he bit me." 

"He is afraid of you, Tsu-la. (Fox). We-ha-li replied. "He only sees another Indian like those who killed his parents." He looked back at the Ranger. "Come, Da-lo-ni-ge Gi-tlu, speak to the boy-child." 

Mike stepped up to the small cave-like hole in the rocks and peered inside. There, all the way to the back wall, sat a small, blond, blue-eyed boy crouched up into as small a ball as he could make himself. "Hello, little one." He called out to the child in English. "What are you doing in there?" No answer came. "My name is Ranger Burell. Can you come out from there or are you hurt?" The boy made no response. Mike, noting the blondness of the child tried his own language. 

"Grüß dich, kinder, Kommen Sie bitte hierher. Sprechen ze deutch?" (Hello child. Come here? Do you speak German?) Finally, the small boy moved. He raised his head and looked at the Ranger. Mike spoke again. "Wie geht es dir, junge? (Are you all right, little boy?)" The child didn't speak, but he did look up at Mike with huge blue eyes. 

Finally, the Ranger crouched down at the cave's mouth and reached out, holding both arms open to him. The small, blond waif crept forward into his arms like a frightened puppy. As Mike pulled the boy into a hug and out into the sunlight, he could see the dried, red blood covering the boy's arms and face. At first he thought the child was injured, but a quick look convinced him that the caked on blood must belong to the parents. Mike lifted him in his arms like he would do his own children. "Armer junge. Mein armer kinder." (poor boy, my poor child.) 

Due to the boy's condition, the hunting party decided to camp there in the valley for the night. They moved a little distance away from the burned out wagon, and a small party of the men left the camp to go and bury the dead parents' bodies. The boy had adamantly refused to leave Mike's arms, after he had given himself up to him. 

He held the boy quietly in his arms until the camp was made. Then, he carried the boy to the fire. As they sat there, Mike warmed some water in a cooking pot and began to wash the dried, caked blood off of him. The Ranger moved slowly and gently so as to not frighten the boy. The child only sat and watched as the man washed his face with gentle hands. Finally, he pulled the boy's bloodied clothing off and put his fringed, buckskin jacket around the thin, pale body. He leaned back and looked at his handiwork. The little one had skin as fair as any German child would, with cotton blond hair and eyes the color of bluebonnets. 

Mike tried speaking to the boy again. "What is your name?" The boy looked at him but didn't speak. "Wie heißen Sie?" Finally, in Spanish, "Cual es su nombre?" The boy only looked at him and didn't answer. He would only bury his face in the Ranger's buckskin coat and peek out to watch his every movement.

Mike had the advantage of being from and having a large family of his own. He had five children and had helped his own mother with his ten brothers and sisters and his wife Anna to care for his own five children when they were frightened, sick or injured. This little blond boy could easily have been his own child. He knew the boy had seen the death of his parents at the hands of the outlaws, and that he was probably still in shock. A child with a weak mind would probably never recover from the horrible experience. But this boy, though not speaking, still showed alertness and intelligence. 

His friend We-ha-li came and sat next to them. "How is the child?" 

"He seems unhurt in his body, but we shall see if his mind is harmed." 

The Cherokee nodded. "It is a terrible thing for one so young to see." The warrior looked into the child's eyes who studied his moves suspiciously. "He has the eyes of a young Wa-ya, a co-yo-te. He is not afraid, but only untrusting." The Cherokee looked over at his friend. "Will you take him home with you?" 

"I wish I could, my friend." The Ranger shook his head regretfully. "But after I go with you, then I must go on to Fort Worth on Ranger business. I cannot take him. The trip is too long and dangerous for him." 

"Then he can stay with us, if he will." We-ha-li watched the child for a reaction. "When you are through with your task, then come back. If you can take the boy, that will be good. Or he can live with us."

"Are you sure? He may not be right, after all." Mike spoke with concern for the child. 

"My clan is that of the longhairs, the stranger clan. We are the ones who adopt the new ones into the tribe. We can teach him our ways, and he may live among us." The Indian assured his friend. 

Later that evening after the men had returned from their sad task one of the older men, Gi-ga-ge Ta-wa-di (Red Hawk), came over to where the Ranger was sitting with the now sleeping child half on his lap. He was holding a bible in his hands. 

"We brought some of the boxes back with us. We found some of his clothing and many books." He handed Mike the bible. "Here is their holy book. It is written in English." 

Mike shifted the sleeping child to lie completely on his bedroll so that he could open the bible. He noticed that it was a King James version, not the Catholic one. The boy curled up next to him and buried his face back into the fringed jacket where it lay next to him. 

The Ranger opened it and read the handwritten script. "Melbourne Daniel Jackson and Claire Alexandria Ballard, married on January 10th, year of our lord 1839 in Amsterdam, Holland. Daniel Alexander Jackson, born July 8th, year of our lord 1840 in Abydos, Egypt." He looked over at the sleeping cherub. "So little Daniel Jackson, I think you have come a long way to be here with us tonight."

We-ha-li had been watching and listening. "What does it mean to you, Da-lo-ni-ge Gi-tlu?" 

"It says, my friend, that our little coyote cub was born in an ancient land very far away from Texas. That there is more mystery here than we can know." He closed the book, and looked again at the fair skin and delicate features. "His mother was Dutch, and his father was probably Scotch-Irish. They lived in the biblical land of Egypt for some time where the boy was born in a very ancient city." Mike Burell shook his head in wonder. "But why would they come here?" 

"To come so far, and to die so easy," Gi-ga-ge Ta-wa-di commented sadly. "I have seen the other books. There are pictures of men in them who wear turbans like the Cherokee men do. Perhaps that is why his is not so afraid of us, now that he has seen us." 

We-ha-li nodded in agreement. "The mules, wagon, and their possessions all speak of wealth. The books speak of knowledge and the child of their love." He spoke softly. "These were good people. We must do right by their child so that he may know them. We must take the books for him so that he may know his clan's legacy. 

Several days later the hunting party arrived at the village of Tishamingo in Oklahoma. The people came out to greet them happily and to divide the meat. This allow them to finish it's curing to preserve it for the long winter. Daniel, as Mike now called him, hid behind the Ranger and watched everything. He had not spoken since he had been found. 

We-ha-li called a council for early the next day to discuss the boy, for adoption and to ensure his proper placement with a good family within the clan. Owl Woman had tried to take him from Ranger Burell, but he still clung to his rescuer. Daniel, though shy, watched all the activity with his bright eyes, taking in all the people, their actions, and their colorful dress. 

After all the duties and responsibilities of caring for the meat was finished, the evening meal was prepared. Village life continued on with the adults working, and the children of the tribe running and playing happily. But the little white boy stayed close to his friend, holding fast to the hem of the leather jacket. 

The Ranger knew that he couldn't stay much longer with the tribe, and he had to make the boy understand about his imminent departure. After the evening meal, Mike brought the boy to his camp at the outskirts of the village. As they settled around the fire, he took the boy in his arms again to speak seriously to him. "Daniel, we must speak of what will happen tomorrow." 

The child's eyes locked on his and they reminded him again of his own children at home in the west Texas town of Castroville. It was verdammit hard. "Daniel, listen to me. Tomorrow, I will have to leave here...and I cannot take you with me as much as I'd like to." He paused. "I have to go to Fort Worth for three months, then on to Amarillo before I can go home to mein frau un mein own kinder. It is too far and too hard a journey for you to make with me." 

Daniel stared at him, tears filling his eyes. "Now, now junge. We-ha-li said you might stay here. Here you'll be safe. The tribal council will find you a new family tomorrow. I know they will not be your father and mother. No one can ever replace them for you, but the new people will take care of you, keep you safe from harm and they will love you very much." He reached and stroked the boy's damp cheeks, brushing away the tears that were falling. "These are good people. They love their children, and they will take good care of you." He kissed the boy on the forehead. "I will come to visit you every year, and that way we will always know that we are both good. All right?" No response. "I will stay until it is all settled, and I know who you will be staying with." 

The boy reached for his protector and wrapped his arms around Mike's neck. "I will miss you too, Daniel. I wish I could take you. Mama will be unhappy with me for not bringing you. But I am worried that the trip would be too hard on you." He looked down at the boy's blue eyes. He was too young, his parents had been too foolish, and they were dead now. Mike could not risk the boy's life after der Gutt Gott had kept him safe so far 

Finally, the little child curled up next to Mike in his bedroll and, holding tight to the Ranger, he fell asleep. 

The next morning, the sound of singing woke the two in their camp. The women's morning song was echoing throughout the camp, greeting the sun, celebrating the success of the hunters and cheering the people to awaken. 

Wi na de-ya ho, wi na de-ya ho,  
Wi na de-ya ho, wi na de-ya ho,  
Ho ho, ho ho.  
He ya ho, he ya ho,  
Ya ya ya. 

Mike looked down at the boy who was curled up against him. "Is it not beautiful? The women sing to the earth and sky. They ask that they weave for them a garment of brightness so that they may walk fittingly where the birds sing." 

The boy looked at him in wonder. "You too may learn their language and their ways, young Daniel. Perhaps one day you may help our two peoples understand each other so that nothing bad or evil can ever happen again." He kissed the boy in the bright blond hair. "What do you think of that, der junge?" 

Daniel only looked up at him with wide eyes. 

Mike smiled down at the boy. "Well, let's go and get some breakfast, Jah? I am hungry." 

After a breakfast of cornbread and honey, the man and boy were greeted by We-ha-li. "Good morning, friends." The leader nodded to them as he sat down next to Daniel. The boy didn't flinch or shrink from him. He nodded, pleased that the boy showed no fear of him. 

"What did the council say?" Mike was nervous enough to ask the question right out without waiting for the polite pleasantries to be completed. 

His friend understood and took no offense from it. "The boy has been accepted. He is a bright child, and I am sure the loss of his voice is only temporary due to the shock. We know he speaks several tongues already, so it should be easy for him to learn our language." 

"What of a family for him?" 

"There were several petitioners for him." We-ha-li nodded to him. The guardians we selected are A-tsi Sv-ti (Fire Maker) and Tsi-quo-quo (Robin bird). We believe it will be easier for him to live with them at first. Sv-ti's father was white and his mother Cherokee." 

"So, he's only part Cherokee?" 

The tribal leader laughed at his friend's confusion. "Part? What part would that be, my friend? His nose? No, he was born into our clan and is a Cherokee in all ways." He looked down at little Daniel and smiled "As we hope the wa-ya a-yu-le (coyote child) will be also." 

Daniel looked from one man to the other with a thoughtful expression on his face. Then he nodded solemnly. Mike felt his eyes prickle with tears but he smiled down at the child and nodded also. 

Several hours later, Mike had his red-roan Mustang saddled and ready for the trail. He was carrying a good amount of dried jerky, flat bread and dried fruit with him to ease his trip. Little Daniel had stayed with him, watching his every move. But now, the time had come for parting. 

Daniel's new family had come by earlier and met their new son. The couple was in their late twenties and had a son similar in age to Daniel. The two boys had met solemnly and seemed to be all right with each other, though it would be a learning time for them all. The family had returned to the village to allow the two some private time together before their farewells. 

Mike Burell knelt down by the boy who had become so important to him in such a short time. "Very well, young Daniel. You will be all right, Jah?" 

The boy nodded, but raised a hand to brush away his tears. 

"I'll come back in five or six months to see if you're all right." The Ranger promised. "If you are still unhappy, I will take you with me...but I think that this will not be so." He looked over the boy's head into the village. "I think you will be happy here." 

The boy did not respond, only watched his friend and benefactor mount his horse. The family who had been selected for his new life came forward when they saw the man begin to leave. They surrounded the boy, the young woman putting her hands on Daniel's shoulders, the young man standing beside him, their son on his other side. 

As Mike rode off he turned in the saddle and waved to the boy who had touched his life. Daniel Jackson waved goodbye to Ranger Burell. 

Epilogue

"So, did you ever go back?" Samantha asked the old Ranger. 

"Oh, jah. I went back about seven months later to check on him." Mike looked at her. "He was doing very well. He had started to talk again and was confusing everyone. His foster father was part French and he had been speaking in that language when Daniel suddenly started talking to him in that tongue. Then, once he started, it all came like a flood. It seems our Daniel already spoke English, Deutch, French, and Spanish. He had been hearing Cherokee for those several months already, and he started speaking that also. He also had some other language that no one could name. We decided it was probably one from his childhood, maybe from Egypt." Mike smiled at his memories. "He would get excited, start talking, and the words would all tumble together and then no one could understand him." 

Jack laughed with the older man. "That still happens occasionally. The damnedest things come out all mixed up." 

"I hope I get to see him." Mike said hopefully. "It's been a long time, since before I retired. He might not remember me." 

"Oh, he'll remember you, never you worry Mike." O'Neill assured him. "Daniel never forgets anybody, just what time to be at places, and occasionally to eat and sleep." The group of friends laughed at O'Neill's statement of fact about their young friend. 

After a little while, the two deputies took their leave. Sam headed to the boarding house to get freshened up after her long ride, and Teal'c went to the Riders' bunkhouse to do the same. They agreed to meet back at the Emerald City for supper when Daniel returned from his work at the Mission. 

Miz Debi drew both the men another beer and excused herself to get back to her chores in the kitchen, leaving the sheriff and the retired Texas Ranger alone in the saloon. Jack and Mike went over and made themselves comfortable at a table. 

As they sat down, Jack looked over at the older man. "Mike, I gotta ask you something." 

"Jah, what is it?" 

"I've known Daniel a good number of years, and I know a bit about him." Mike nodded his encouragement to the younger man. "We've traveled the same trails for awhile now, but I've seen something that I don't quite understand and it's...well, it's kinda scaring me." 

"What do you mean?" Mike looked at Jack curiously. 

"Well, I will say that Daniel is not the coolest customer I've ever known. He feels things deep, doesn't ever hold himself back. When he's your friend, he'll give you his heartbeat. When he hates someone or something, he hates them to his soul." Jack watched the older man nod. 

"Twice now, he's been with the kids over at the school house, helping the teacher there, when something has happened. He's kind of...gone into a, a trance. He takes care of whatever happens, gets the kids safe and all, but then he just...goes away." Jack fiddled with his beer mug. "I've see men do it before, but never this bad."

The old man nodded and took a drink from his beer. "I saw him do that once too, Jack. Do you know what starts it? Is there something special that he sees or hears?" 

Jack nodded, "It's blood on his hands, Mike. Once, one of the kids was picking on another and the teacher said that after he broke them up, Daniel got the child's blood on his hands. The other time, well, it wasn't blood but it was red paint." Jack picked up his beer and took a deep drink. "But that time was worse, Mike. He was seeing things, and hearing things that weren't there." 

"Well, Jack, it could be from his parents. When we found him and pulled him out of that hidey hole he was covered with their blood. Poor little mite, I had to throw away everything that he was wearing and wrap him in my old buckskin coat till the boys found his clothes in the wagon." Mike smiled to himself. "He always liked the smell of tanned leather after that. I guess it just made him feel safe. He'd just curl right up on it and go to sleep."

Jack smiled, "Yeah, I've noticed his fondness for buckskin." 

"Or it could be something else all together." The old man mused, staring down into the half empty mug of beer. "One of the problems with the damned Civil War was that it caused a lot of useless, senseless deaths all over this country." He glanced up at Jack's confused expression. "You boys left to go back east to fight the war. Those of us who didn't go, we had our reasons. I had a wife and nine kids by then. I couldn't go. I'm a Texican first and foremost. If it would have come to me, I woulda fought...for my home and my family. But it didn't. It did come to Oklahoma, and it was bad. Old John Ross was a union man. Stand Watie was a Reb, and they split the clans, the tribe and the territory. Daniel was a young man by then and his people were divided. I'm sure he was involved. But I never heard how. 

Jack looked at the Ranger in dismay. "I thought he was safe at home. I didn't even realize..." 

"Not many people do. Mostly it was Indian against Indian, with a little help from their white friends and their tribal leaders. Daniel's people were followers of John Ross, he was a unionist." The old Ranger could only look towards O'Neill. "I don't know what he was involved in, but...there's lots it could have been." He reached a hand out and laid it over Jack's hand closest to him. "Why don't you ask him? He'll tell you before anyone else." The two men sat awhile in silence, Jack lost in his own memories of the war.

Then they heard the telltale sound of hoof beats outside the saloon door. 

Jack indicated the front door. "That's probably him now, Mike. I'll go see." 

O'Neill stepped over to the door and met the young man who was just entering the building. "Where the hell have you been?" Jack thundered in his best put upon voice. "Lollygagging on the trail, avoiding people and work like that."

Mike Burell could hear Daniel's protestation of innocence. "But Jack, I was helping fix the fences out at the mission. The goat kids are getting out all over the place and…" 

Jack stepped back out of his path and Daniel could see the man standing at the bar. " Wie geht, Daniel. How are you?" 

"Ranger Mike…" Daniel face blossomed into one of his blinding smiles. "What are you doing here?" 

"I have come to see mein junge, what else would I travel so far for?" 

Daniel approached the old man. "I can't believe you're here." 

Mike opened his arms and hugged the younger man, pulling him close. "And why not? I have come to see you as often as I could for many years." He pulled back to look at his friend. "You have grown so...tall. You look well, Daniel." 

"I am good, Mike." Daniel smiled and put his arm around the old man's shoulder. "I am in a good place, with friends around me." He grinned over at O'Neill who smiled warmly back at the younger man. "Even if some of them do get a little loud once in a while." 

"So it seems." Mike looked back and forth between the two friends. "But come now, lets sit and talk. I want to hear all about your adventures here in this town of Tok'ra Flats." 

the end (for now)

**Author's Note:**

> The Cherokee Morning Song is from the album Robbie Robertson's Red Road Ensemble and performed by Rita Coolidge and Wahali http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhcgX1VHsgk


End file.
